


The Gallery

by holdyourbreathfornow



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A gift for Starlight!, Extremely detailed descriptions, Magic AU, Multi, Night Guard Logan, Seduction, paintings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdyourbreathfornow/pseuds/holdyourbreathfornow
Summary: When Logan Berry receives a mysterious job offer in the mail, he does the sensible thing:  Instantly accepts.But it might just be the best decision he's ever made.





	The Gallery

Logan sighed as he flipped through bills, feeling tense as more and more debt piled against him.  He groaned and his cat meowed at him from her little climbing tree in the corner of the living room.

 

“I’m going to have to get another job, Curie.”  He muttered bitterly, tossing the bills back onto the table viciously and standing.  As he went to make Curie’s dinner, she uncoiled from around her perch and slinked to the table, leaping up lithely and pawing at the pile of opened envelopes.  Just as he returned with the little ceramic dish, she sank her teeth into one and lifted her head, purring at him, almost teasingly.

 

“Curie Berry, you put that letter down, right now.”  Logan scolded and the cat didn’t even hesitate before she streaked off the table and out of the living room.  With a curse, Logan hurled her dish onto the table, gently enough that it stayed intact on impact, and gave chase.

 

Curie was a well-fed cat, slightly tubby and just slow enough that Logan could catch her.  He ignored the prickling of her claws halfheartedly sinking into his flesh, intent on wresting the letter from her stubborn jaws.  Finally, he emerged victorious, letter held aloft in one hand as Curie dropped to the floor and strode confidently from the room, as if she had meant to lose.

 

But Logan paid no attention to pondering the possible insanity of his cat, instead flipping the letter open.  An elegant sprawling logo across the top of the paper announced it originated from the Sanders Art Gallery, and that it was offering him a job that could finally make ends meet.  He saw the interview was in a little less than two hours and immediately burst into flurried activity, pausing only to drop a grateful kiss on Curie’s twitching ear before he left the apartment.

 

-

 

“Well, your certifications certainly look in order.”  Mr. Sanders muttered as he flipped through Logan’s resume.  “So tell me why you want to work here, son.”

 

Mr. Sanders wasn’t much older than Logan, but he definitely had a fatherly personality, bubbly and mature all wrapped up in a sweater vest and cherry red lenses perched on the tip of his nose as he stared at Logan over them.  

 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”  Logan inquired, and took a bracing breath when Mr. Sanders nodded his assent.  “The hours are favorable and I need the money.” There was a moment’s pause in which Logan concluded that he had to dive out the nearest window from embarrassment, before Mr. Sanders burst into booming laughter, walking around his desk to slap Logan on the shoulder and grin at him.

 

“Well, you’re perfectly honest, which is all I can really ask for from a night watchman.”  

 

“So does that mean I’m hired?”  Logan asked and smiled when Mr. Sanders beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

 

“I’d be pleased as punch to have you onboard here, son.  If it’s not too much trouble, you can work your first night here next Monday.  What say you?”

 

“That sounds brilliant.”  Logan got to his feet and shook Mr. Sanders’ hand firmly.  “I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

 

“I should be the one doing the thanking.”  He smiled and shrugged humbly. “But nonetheless, see you Monday.”

 

-

 

“So I wanna walk you through our most famous paintings your first night here.”  Joan, the night guard who Logan would be replacing, swept their flashlight beam across the row of paintings the two now stood in front of.

 

The three works of art were easily the largest in the entire gallery, taller than Logan and stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

 

“You stay here and look at these,”  Joan said, turning away from Logan and towards the rest of the gallery.  “I’ll come get you once I’ve finished checking everything else over.” They set off and Logan reached for the light switch, blinking rapidly as he was temporarily blinded by the fluorescent bulbs.  Then he settled himself onto a bench and began looking.

 

The first painting was called ‘The Gardener’, and was slightly larger than the other two set on either side of it.  The edge of the canvas was bordered by incredibly detailed roses, blue as a robin’s egg and damp with morning dew. The actual scene depicted a young man shown in profile, a straw hat shading the upper half of his face so only his gentle smile could be seen.  He was kneeling in the shade of an apple tree, rich and in season with red and golden apples. The man had gardening gloves on and was wrist-deep in dirt, working to plant different colored roses under the tree. The roses he had already planted surrounded the tree in a circle.  There were only two colors that Logan could see: The shade of red which roses are most known for, and purple, which would seem an odd color choice, but somehow the two complemented each other just fine. 

 

Logan found himself smiling, an unconscious action, but he didn’t bother trying to get rid of it as his gaze flicked over to the next painting.

 

That one was titled ‘Knight Victorious’ and it wasn’t very hard to see why.  The main focus of the painting was a knight, knelt with his back to the audience.  His red cloak flowed down the steps of the dais he knelt on, long enough that it covered even the bottom of the four steps.  In detail barely noticeable for how small it was, there were tiny blue and purple roses stitched into the hem. The hands of an unseen second party were placing a crown of red roses upon the knight’s head, and it was easy to imagine the emotions flooding the knight when one looked at the cheering crowd around him, but his head was tilted slightly, the only visible part of his face a flash of a self-satisfied smirk.

 

While the first two paintings were of the day, of energy, the last one felt like Logan was actually there, considering that the moon was shining through a tall glass window at the end of the corridor.

 

It was called ‘And The Moon Cradled’ and some deep part of Logan knew that of the three, this one had been labored over the most, the details like looking through a clean window into the scene.  A young man lay sprawled on a grassy hill, dressed in elegant purple and silver robes, tiny crystals glinting like thousands of stars from the folds of the fabric. The man’s eyes were shut in slumber, his face calm and beautiful.  One hand curled slightly on his stomach while the other stretched out, as if he was seeking something or someone in his sleep. The moon shone a spotlight on him and lit up the dew on the roses bordering him like a watchful guard, sky blue and rose red, the only promise that daytime would come to the slumbering prince ever again.

 

Logan could’ve stared at the three pieces of art for so much longer, but he was jolted out of it when Joan came waltzing back into the hall, flashlight swinging in their loose grip.

 

“Now that you’ve been acquainted with the stars, let’s show you the ropes.”

 

-

 

As a night watchman, Logan’s first task was to ensure the museum was completely empty.  So when he heard footsteps while he was sat at the desk, he got to his feet and set off to find the intruder.

 

A young man, shorter than Logan, was lost, wandering the Hall of Sculptures that was close enough for Logan to hear him.  He was dressed in overalls, a straw sun hat and wore robin’s egg blue glasses. At first, he didn’t seem to notice Logan had arrived, but when he turned and almost ran smack into Logan’s chest, he blinked once, startled, before he broke into a wide grin.

 

“Hey there!  My name’s Patton!  Do you work here?”

 

“Indeed, sir.  Are you lost?”

 

“Something like that.”  The man shrugged, sheepish, and reached out, curling his warm, calloused fingers around Logan’s elbow.  The night watchman got slightly distracted by the odd sensation of his heart melting in his chest, but he shook it off and readjusted his glasses with one hand so he could leave the other in the man’s… Oddly familiar grip.  “Will you show me around?”

 

“The gallery has been closed for awhile, sir.”  Logan muttered and for some odd reason, this made the man beam brighter.

 

“Then it’ll just be the two of us!”  He began tugging insistently on Logan’s arm and eventually Logan acquiesced, and the two spent the next hour wandering around the gallery, until they finally came to the Hall of Paintings.  Patton breezed right past The Gardener, but stopped squarely between Knight Victorious and And The Moon Cradled, gaze flickering between the two rapidly.

 

“Trying to pick a favorite?”  Logan asked conversationally and Patton shook his head, smiling at Logan.  

 

“No, I think they’re both very beautiful.  What about you?”

 

“Oh, I agree.  The two couldn’t be more different, but I think that the contrast is what makes both of them so appealing.  See, look at the night sky.” Logan reaches up, fingers gently curling around Patton’s wrist and pointing his finger to And The Moon Cradled.  Patton didn’t fight his grip, but instead leaned back until the top of his head was tucked under Logan’s chin. Logan flushed, but swallowed hard so he could continue talking.  “You see the stars and the way the sky sort of swirls around them? It’s an homage to Van Gogh’s Starry Night, which since we don’t know the date of this painting or the artist, helps us establish an earliest possible date.”

 

“Cool.”  Patton murmured before moving both their hands to Knight Victorious.  “And what about this one?”

 

“I think it would have to be the way the painting kind of tunnel visions on the knight in question, especially the detail put into him.  You can almost see each lock of hair, and each petal on the roses of his cloak.”

 

The two settled onto the bench and Patton leaned into Logan, their hands still tangled together loosely.  There wasn’t much need for conversation, but when they did talk, it was soft and calm, like the night outside the window.  Logan felt oddly at peace and he could see the sun beginning to rise. As the sky turned from inky black to a lighter blue, Patton stood and pulled Logan with him, bracing both hands on his chest and leaning up to kiss him once, soft and slow.

 

“Go finish your rounds.”  He whispered with a smile he hid in the sharp jut of Logan’s jaw where it met his neck.  “I can find my own way out.”

 

“Will I see you again?”  Logan asked, because Patton’s sudden urgency seemed to have infected him.

 

“I certainly hope so!”  Patton laughed and waved Logan away, smiling at him until Logan finally turned the corner.

 

Later, when Logan was sleepy-eyed and on his way home for some well-deserved rest, something drew him back to the Hall of Paintings.  He swore that in The Gardener, the title subject had a new color of rose blooming beneath his nurturing touch, a dark blue that matched Logan’s eyes.  Or maybe he was just tired…

 

-

 

He didn’t work a lone night shift again until about a month later, but once the gallery was empty, he realized it definitely wasn’t silent.  In the distance, he could hear the sounds of clanking metal, like someone in a suit of armor was just casually taking a stroll through a gallery that was supposed to be closed.  Sighing, Logan grabbed his flashlight and set off through the halls.

 

There was a knight in the Hall of Paintings, pacing up and down the hall, and frankly giving Logan a headache with the noise he was making.

 

“Ho there, fair guardian!”  The knight cried upon seeing Logan and clanked his way towards him.  “I have been summoned!”

 

“And I have to ask you to return to wherever you were summoned from.”  Logan sighed, being slightly petty and shining his flashlight in the knight’s eyes.  The taller man blinked and glared at Logan as he chuckled at his little joke.

 

“Fear not, dear sir!  I have arrived to dispatch a dragon plaguing these great halls!”

 

“Dragons aren’t-”  He was cut off when the sound of metal reverberated again through the halls, but this time it was accompanied by a low growling.  Logan’s eyes widened slightly and the knight moved swiftly so that he stood between Logan and the open doorway. “What was that?”

 

“The dragon.”  The knight muttered, just as it rounded the corner.  It was the metal sculpture usually stood in the main entrance hall, but its metal mouth hung open, teeth clanking together when its jaw shifted.  The knight stared it down for a moment before he ran forward. Logan squeezed his eyes shut, but there were no cries of mortal wounds or defeated dragons.

 

Instead, when he opened them again, the dragon had lowered its head and was joyfully licking the knight’s face, causing the knight himself to laugh as though he were being tickled.

 

“I thought that thing was dangerous!”  Logan cried and the knight turned to glare over his shoulder at Logan.

 

“His name is Froufrou and he is dangerously adorable, alright?”

 

As Logan walked with the knight and dragon, he learned a few things.

 

One:  The knight’s name was Roman.

 

Two:  He was ragingly flirtatious.

 

Logan’s brain kind of shorted out after that.

 

Once the dragon was situated back on his pedestal, Roman removed his helmet, letting curled brown hair fall to just past his ears.  A few stray strands hung in his eyes when he smiled at Logan, and Logan couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

 

“So did I do a good job of protecting you?”  Roman asked, setting the helmet aside and wrapping his hands carefully around Logan’s waist, stepping closer almost hesitantly.  

 

“Adequate enough, I suppose.”  Logan rolled his eyes but burst into laughter when Roman grinned and lurched forward to let his fingers dance across Logan’s ribs.  “Will you stop?!”

 

“Perhaps when I feel like it.”  But Logan reached his own hands down and let their fingers tangle together, oddly at ease with this strange man.  Perhaps because there was a suspicion lingering in the back of his mind that this was a dream.

 

“Will you show me the Hall of Paintings?”  Roman asked and Logan saw no use in arguing the fact that that was where the knight had appeared, instead letting him clank along happily at Logan’s side.  

 

Logan sat on the bench, watching Roman examine the paintings.  He seemed to spend the most time staring, transfixed, at And The Moon Cradled, shoulders slumped like he was hiding how exhausted he really was.  Each painting had a thin glass cover, so the paintings couldn’t be meddled with, but Logan almost wished they didn’t when Roman stretched a hand out and gently laid it over where the man’s lay half-curled in the grass of And The Moon Cradled.  The sleeping man looked like he was in a bed, and searching for someone on the other side, and it occurred to Logan that perhaps ROman was that person. After all, dreams didn’t have to make sense.

 

“You should sleep.”  Roman piped up suddenly, turning to face Logan, who shook his head even as he muffled a yawn, exhaustion appearing from seemingly nowhere and hooking impossibly heavy weights to Logan’s eyelids.  Roman reached out and laid Logan on the bench, pulling off his puffy uniform coat and gently draping it over Logan like a blanket. Just as Logan drifted off, Roman brushed his lips over Logan’s forehead and paused there for a moment, which let Logan feel the smile Roman had.  “Good night, darling.”

 

And suddenly Logan was jolting awake again, sitting up quickly and ignoring his jacket sliding to pool in his lap.  He fairly leaped to his feet and leaned in closely to examine Knight Victorious.

 

As he had suspected, there were now three colors of roses embroidered into the cape.  He shook his head, yawned widely enough to crack his jaw, and strode from the Hall of Paintings, his mind only focused on the warm bed waiting for him.

 

-

 

He was ready the third night, sitting vigil in the Hall of Paintings.  But it was between one blink and the next, when he felt something simply… Shift.  He whipped his head and there he was. The prince from And The Moon Cradled, sitting in the window, the moon perfectly centered over him, like the watchful eye of a mother over her child.  The prince’s silver robes pooled off the sill and very nearly touched the floor, his thin pianist fingers absentmindedly stroking the silken fabric.

 

As if he could feel Logan’s eyes on him, the prince turned and their gazes locked.  The prince’s eyes were silvery-gray, reflecting the moonlight so they seemed to grow an angelic white in the shadows of his face.

 

“Do you finally understand?”  The prince asked, sitting up. Logan walked over and stood directly in front of the prince, the two nose to nose.  The prince’s eyes never left his, though.

 

“Magic?”  Logan questioned lowly and could feel the vibrations rattling through the prince’s chest, when he laughed with all the grace of the ocean crashing against the shore in the still of the night.  

 

“Sort of.  This isn’t a simple art gallery, Logan.  It called out to your soul, and you answered.  Now you have a choice: To join us as a painting or never truly be complete.”

 

“Bit of an ultimatum there.”  Logan whispered, though he was leaning in closer to the prince, irresistable like gravity’s pull.

 

“Mm, but you don’t really mind.”  The prince leaned in too and curled his dainty fingers around Logan’s tie, pulling him impossibly closer.  “So what do you choose?”

 

-

 

The next morning, the gallery owner unlocked the door and walked in to find Logan’s coat lying abandoned on the front desk.  He seemed unsurprised, but instead folded t and tucked it under his arm as he walked towards the Hall of Paintings.

 

There now hung four on the floor and the owner spared a glance for each of the other three, noting that the prince of And The Moon Cradled had adopted a tiny smile in his sleep, hand curled around another unseen one.  But the owner’s attention was focused on the last one, gaze flicking to the placard.

 

It was titled The Sentry.  A man in long, flowing robes colored an almost-blinding white sat on a throne made of stone, legs crossed at the ankle and a simple wooden staff laid across his knees.  His piercing gaze seemed to drill directly through the viewer, but the owner looked close enough to see the tiny smile quirking at the man’s lips. The tip of the staff had three flowers, with vines winding down to gently wrap around his fingers.  The flowers were roses and each was a different color:

 

Cherry red, robin’s egg blue, and midnight sky violet.


End file.
